Miss Spencer Rides Astride (Heroines on Horseback) by Sydney Alexander Page A

came as quick as the frightened fox's, but Grainne felt power and was wickedly proud of it. “Mr. Archer,” she insisted, unable to keep a little huskiness from her voice — why would it not behave? “We must not be improper.”
    William Archer smiled at her and reached for the fox. With a deft move he unhooked the last twist of wire and slipped his handkerchief from the fox’s nose. The little creature was gone like a bullet. “Now,” he growled, turning back to her with a feral grin, “I can concentrate on you.”
    His hand was on the nape of her neck and his lips were hovering just above hers in an instant. William, she thought, and supposed she could never think of this man in the formal way again. Her heartbeat was echoing in her ears, driving out the thought of anything but William’s touch, William’s hot gaze, William’s kiss. She could never have explained her actions. She was aching for it, body yearning with a desperation unlike anything she had ever felt before. Her back arched to get nearer to him. 
    And still he waited, sensuous lips curved in a wicked smile, delighting in her passion, until she could bear his hesitation no longer and thrust forward, meeting his lips with her own in a hard, insistent kiss. 
    She felt him stiffen in surprise, and through the fog of passion she thought that she was giving herself away, that no maiden would know how to kiss like this, but it was too late. When she had seen his light touch with the little fox she had known him to be a gentle soul, and the combination of his alluring body and his beautiful heart were simply too much for her to resist. 
    Not even to save her reputation. 
    William seemed to get over his surprise gratifyingly quickly, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss, passionately taking a long, lingering taste of her. She thought her body would simply dissolve into him. And as his hand slid down her spine and pressed the curve of her body against his hardness, she thought one traitorous thought:
    It was never like this with Len. 

    ***

    He knew he was no better than the gypsy she was having her little liaisons with, but dear God, she was so sweet. She was so wicked. She was so delectable. William was utterly lost in his lust for her. 
    He thought he could never break their kiss, so entwined were their bodies, so irretrievably lost their good sense. But horses have a sense of humor, and as he began to toy with one perfect breast, so long hidden beneath those loose peasant’s shirts she favored, a hoof came down alarmingly close to his head and he realized that human lust was no deterrent to a horse on the hunt for that perfect patch of clover. 
    Pulling his lips away from Grainne’s — and noting with satisfaction her little mew of protest — he rolled her to safety as quickly as he could. 
    Which left her sitting atop him, grass in her hair, swollen lips laughing down at him as her body pressed most alluringly against the part of him that longed for her the most.
    He gaped up at her, utterly at a loss for words. He thought he might perish of longing, and he just didn’t know of a polite way to tell that to a lady. Although she was a lady of questionable character — as that kiss had just proven to him. This was the girl who was planning on running away with a gypsy, after all.  
    She might know exactly what she was doing.
    The thought was painful.
    She wiggled. The damn chit actually wiggled! “Stop,” he gasped. “For God’s sake, stop.”
    “Does it pain you, Mr. Archer?” Grainne’s smile was positively diabolical. “Have you taken an injury? Perhaps I had better get up.” But she did not move to find her feet. 
    William lay very still and thought of Lady Violetta’s terrifying mother, with a face like a forlorn tortoise and a body like a sack of potatoes tied in the middle with string, until he felt rather more like himself and less like a stallion discovering   a filly. “Let’s get up,” he suggested in a